


Always Rose Petals

by Athereye



Category: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:57:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athereye/pseuds/Athereye
Summary: The roses were always green.





	Always Rose Petals

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for a bit of violence around the middle. Or maybe not so much violence as a violent act and the victim is suffering.

The image of his mother was always vivid in his mind, but what stood out the most to him were her eyes.

She had beautiful, vibrant eyes, as though they were windows to a healthy, thriving garden. Every little curve and rounded point was like another vine, another bush in her forest. Even her pupils, holes in her garden, were not so much black holes but ponds that gave life to the greenery around them. They only helped bring out the colors of her eyes and made them stand out even more. They had always been the most beautiful part of her.

Of course, that was not to say that other parts of her were not beautiful. Her thick, scaly fur was shiny and luscious, soft to the touch but each and every end was like a thorn of a stem. It coated her slender body, hiding any imperfections beneath a wood of black needles. Not even her skin could be seen under it all, not even on her tail; a long, beast-like tail that took up half of her back before it gradually tapered down to a point. All along her back were spiny, colorful scales, but they were soft and could not penetrate anything.

She always smiled, no matter the situation. She saw a reason to be happy in everything that happened. Whenever she was with her family, be it her children or her lover, it was as if all was right with the world. The cherry blossoms on her skin, they were always pink with joy. Never once did he see them wilted or withered with sadness and depression, never did he see them sick and poisoned. There was never something wrong with her, she was always okay. She was everything he had ever wanted to be.

He was not like her. He was always coughing and vomiting, and he never felt quite well. Childhood days were but a haze as he stumbled around his home, sick and awful. The tail he lugged behind him felt heavy and awkward, hitting whatever was near and hurting himself. Headaches threatened to break open his skull and throw out his brain during the day, making it unpleasant to stay awake. But even when he was asleep, it seemed like the headaches still affected his mind, giving him nightmares but taking away his memory so he could never remember them. He did not like it.

But it was not all bad. Just like his mother, he loved flora. Every day he accompanied her to their garden, where all manner of plants grew. His large eyes, filled with a child’s innocence, took in all of the color of the world, from the reds of the maple trees to the golds of the dandelions, lilies that hugged his body and daisies that kissed his legs. Even when it was before the sun had risen and he was shaking violently from the chills, he always felt warmed by the sight of their beautiful garden. He had seen them all so often, hundreds of times 

But the flowers he saw the most were green roses.

He wanted to be strong and amazing like his mother, but he also wanted to be a legendary hero, like his father and the rest of their family. 

He left home with this in mind, more than ready to help others and save them from monsters.

His green cape danced in the wind as he skirted the edge of the road, his golden sword hanging at his side by its scabbard and belt. The fuzzy black tail behind him would move in a joyful motion, swinging from side to side to reflect his mood.

At the same time he made the first friend he ever had, and it only made him happier. 

On the edge of a village he found a canine. It was a shiba inu, its pelt split between its orange back and its white belly. It was very thin, its many ribs protruding from its torso, its skin that contoured its skeleton so easily. It was tied to a lamppost and had been left for dead. It barked at whoever passed by, but it could only do so much with its hoarse, dry throat that had been deprived of water. Its tail would lie at its side, motionless from its lack of energy and joy. It was sad.

He could not stand it. Detouring from the road, he approached the dog before severing its ties with the lamppost. His sword cut the rope that had been strangling it, freeing it from its prison. Seconds afterward, it jumped and tackled him to the ground. 

Slobber dripped all over his face as the dog licked his face, and from the way it was pinning him to the ground, he was helpless to its unconditional love.

Truthfully, he loved that dog. They spent so much time together, going on many adventures together, gazing up at the starry night skies that they slept beneath, meeting new people at every village they came across. He had never been happier.

Then it all came crashing down.

Not everyone loved him, he knew that much from the dirty looks he got from others. But he did not know how much they hated him until that day.

It had started off as such a beautiful night. There was not a cloud in the sky, leaving the stars and the worlds exposed to those on the earth. The moon was full and bright, illuminating their campsite in the woods. The two of them were huddled close to the fire, warming their fur from the cold of the evening. The smell of the burning wood filled their nostrils, but it was pleasant; it felt homey, like a fireplace in an inn. The taste of their meal lingered on their tongues as yet another enjoyable feeling, the delicious sensation reminding them of the wonderful day they had. All that could be heard was the gentle wind blowing through the treetops.

He never would have expected what happened that night.

The wind could no longer be heard when a pair of giant arms tied themselves around his body, squeezing the air out of his lungs and he struggled to breathe. It could no longer be heard when he saw a man do the same to his dog and he cried from seeing it in pain. He squirmed and wriggled, but these people were twice his size and three times as strong. He could only scream when they unsheathed their claws and ripped open his throat and let him hit the ground hard, scratching his arm on the rocks below.

His dog howled, crying just as much as he was to see its master suffer in agony, and it only made him feel worse.

But he could not dwell on this. As soon as he was eating the dirt, one of the men grabbed him by the base of his tail and hoisted him into the air. 

“You,” they had said to him, “you’re a monster.”

When he turned his head, the man had brandished a knife the size of his arm.

“And this is what we do to monsters.”

In less than a second, an awful sound filled the air of a blade cutting through flesh and bone. Pain exploded in his pelvis and lower back before searing through his spine and every neuron in his body. In an instant he was completely paralyzed and could no longer move.

He did not feel the impact with the ground when the man dropped him, nor when the group started kicking and stomping on his weak, pathetic body. Only the ear-splitting barks from his dog as the men took it away, and the tears that dampened his face from the heartbreak.

Before he blacked out, he saw the green roses for the first in a long time.

They were wilted and shriveled, just like him.

He was alone.

From the moment his dog was napped, he was alone. Time to time he interacted with villagers or those he ran into, but they never worked out. None of them would ever replace what they had.

For a while, it was just him, his sword, and what he carried on his back. Every day he would wake up to get on the road again, and every day he tried to convince himself that he was okay and that he did not need anyone else.

He was not doing a good job of it, but it was better than nothing.

Those not-so-comforting words were his company as he walked through the dusty, deserted plains. The hot sun beat down on his black fur that he had shed recently with the onset of summer. He felt hot and sticky, and there were dust clumps all over him. The pads of his feet burned with every step, but he had gotten used to the feeling of scorching himself by now. It was not a pleasant view either; yellow and orange sand and rocks surrounded him, ready to attack if they were alive. There was little to no life here, with dead shrubs and not a bit of grass anywhere. He coughed, hacking up a lung every time the dust got into his airway.

Nope, not pleasant at all.

If it had not been so miserable out here, he might have been more scared or even surprised when a group of individuals with bionic body parts jumped out from behind a rock and into the road before him. Had it not been so miserable, he might not have thought that this could be a hallucination of bandits trying to rob him. But even if it were, he was not about to take this lying down.

He was not going to let it happen, not again.

Gripping his sword in one hand, he attacked.

One by one, he took out the cyborg crooks. Scratching sounds rang in his ears every time the blade of his sword made contact with metal, and cut up flesh and fur on top of it. Shouts and cries were heard as he sent each of them into the ground, safely out of the way and where they could think about what they did.

As soon as they stopped trying to come back, he sheathed his sword, returning it to its scabbard, and had begun to prepare to leave before he realized someone was still shouting. 

The moment he turned his head, he saw who it was.

The massive rock the crooks had jumped out from was on fire, but one of their members had not jumped out. Now he was stuck, his foot crushed under a rock and the flames were nearing him.

The crook, a massive man who could easily break his ribs, had not noticed him, but he did when he was standing in front of him.

Instantly he began to plead for his life, begging for him to spare him from the same treatment as his so-called “comrades.” He thought he was going to end him.

But of course that was not the case. He only looked shocked when he used his sword to break the rocks on his foot and freed him. 

He embraced him, and from that point on, they had become permanent parts of each others’ lives.

They had both seen the green roses that evening.

For the first in a long time, the green roses were not wilted and withered.

Thinking about it now, the roses were always green. Whether they were a pale, pretty green or an unhealthy yellow-green, he had never seen them in any other color.

At least, not until he met her.

When they had met, it was like he was transported to an alien planet. It was a beautiful little village with lovely potted flowers and charming architecture. It was cute, and the citizens were no different.

Everyone he met there was like a plush toy; colorful and sweet. But her, she took the cake. 

She was a little girl, precious and beaming with innocence. She smiled at him always, always hanging onto his cape or his leg like he was her mother.

He thought it would not last long and that she would only run away when she realized what he was: a monster.

He could not have been more wrong.

He coughed and coughed, keeled over and feeling like he was hacking up a giant hairball. He coughed until the ball that had been lodged in his throat had finally gotten loose and came out through his mouth. Even though he was still on the ground, refusing to look up at anyone, he could hear the gasps and whispers amongst those around him. Foot steps and the whispers getting quieter meant that they were leaving. Of course they are, they know I’m a monster now.

“Wow, so pretty!”

His head shot up and he saw her, the little blue plush doll, and she was holding the green roses, covered in goop and saliva.

“Hwuh, uh . . . What?” He could not believe what he just heard, and in regards of what she was holding.

“These flowers are so pretty!” she repeated, playing with its green petals as though nothing was wrong with it. “Did your tummy make them?”

What? He was astounded. How could she think these disgusting things are pretty? 

“ . . . Yes,” he said slowly, cautiously. He bit his tongue, waiting for her to drop the rose in repulse and run away. He waited for her to lash out at him, to bite his head off, to--

“Wow, cool!” she shouted in joy, gathering up all of the petals in her arms. “I think that makes them extra pretty, because you made them, and you’re pretty just like them!”

Wh . . . Wha . . .

He started coughing again, catching her attention immediately as he held his hand over his mouth, but he was shocked when he saw what was in his palm.

For the first time, the rose petals were pink.

“I’m Adorabat!”  
“H . . . Hi, my name’s Mao Mao.”


End file.
